


On Blood Magic

by debtdoctor



Series: Fade Breakout AU [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood Mages, Blood Magic, Canon Compliant, Canon Hawke deaths, Dragon Age II Spoilers, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendmance!Anders, Gender Neutral Character, Gender Neutral Hawke, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other, POV First Person, Purple!Hawke, bloodmage!Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debtdoctor/pseuds/debtdoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Character study of why Hawke would choose to spec in blood magic, with relevant conversations with a Friendmanced!Anders and a Rival!Fenris. Hawke can be read as any gender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Blood Magic

_My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base._

 

I still hear Father saying it to me. Over closed books as we sit at the table. As I parry the blow of his staff with my own. Scolding me for using magefire instead of lighting a candle.

I still hear Bethany whispering it before she falls asleep at night, like a prayer. Mother murmuring it to herself as she stirs dinner over the stove. Carver reminding us to be careful when browsing the market.

A chorus of the dead, chanting the family motto during my twice daily meditations.

 

Bethany asked Father about blood magic, once. I shushed her, old enough only to know those weren’t words to be spoken. Ever. And especially not by apostates like us.

Father sighed, and took us into the lean-to we’d built for the goats.

He crouched down, started sketching in the dirt, and put on his teacher voice.

“Tell me what magic is, Bethany.”

She’d had it memorised by rote, and her pride in knowing the answer shone in her voice. Soft, but clear.

“Magic is the practice of willing the energies of the Fade to enact a different reality than that which is present.”

“And with what does a mage channel Fade energy?” he asked, looking up at me.

“Mana.”

He blinked, and I saw it was a trick question.

“But not always?” I amended.

“Not always. Mana, lyrium, and, sometimes, blood.”

He stood and waved a hand over the circle he’d drawn.

“Magic,” he said, as it burst briefly into flame.

He drew a knife from his boot, and I am ashamed to say that it surprised me.

“That’s not a _special_ knife, is it Father?” I asked.

He smiled and shook his head before pricking his finger, allowing a single drop of blood to fall into the circle.

The second burst of flame left scorch marks.

“ _Magic,_ ” he said again. “More powerful, but with a higher cost.”

 

My father, the blood mage.

 

“A sword is a weapon. The person wielding it is the difference between it being used to hurt, or to protect.”

“Just like magic.”

“ _All_ magic, even blood magic.”

 

\-----

It’s this I think of when I ask Merrill to teach me blood magic, over a decade later.

She blinks at me, owlishly. “Why?”

“A bow isn’t much use when you only have one arrow.”

She thinks it over. “Is it because of your mother?”

Partly. Master that which you fear. Make it yours, so it can’t hurt you any more. Blood magic didn’t kill my mother. The bastard who did doesn’t deserve the achievement of undoing the work my father put in making sure I knew magic wasn’t to be feared.

“My father was a blood mage. And a good man. I’d like to learn from someone who knows the two aren’t exclusive.”

Merrill brightens at that, and we begin.

 

\-------

It’s a week later she declares I have an aptitude for it, and Anders and I have the biggest fight we’ve ever had.

“How can you throw away everything we’ve worked for?!”

“Being a blood mage doesn’t make you evil!”

“No, but that’s how it starts!”

“The same way joining with spirits is how abominations are made?!”

The air crackles as we both lose our temper, and the fight ends with me giving him a blowjob as he reads aloud his manifesto.

 

It’s not our last _disagreement_ about blood magic, and it takes him a full year before he accepts I haven’t gone off the deep end. I think though, that in those days he spent building a bomb in my basement, that he finally understood that the kind of weapon didn’t matter, so much as how it was used.

 

\-----

Fenris takes it the worst.

We hadn’t been _friends_ , exactly, beforehand. But we’d been getting there.

I’m not sure what to expect when I walk into his mansion. Probabilistically, my chance of walking out again isn’t very high.

But isn’t that how everything is with me, these days?  Defying the odds left and right. Might as well add “survived lyrium enhanced elven swordsman” to the list.

“Hawke.” Said swordsman turns from the window as I approach, and gestures to the table in front of the fire.

“Fenris,” I acknowledge, and we sit in our usual spots.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I’m not sure how to put it. _I wanted an opinion from someone who’s horrifically biased- I’m thinking of taking up blood magic to cope with the tragic fear my mother’s even-more-tragic death instilled in me, and I’ve proven terribly inept at every other school I’ve tried. What do you think?_

“A poor joke, Hawke.”

Shit. Did I say that out loud?

“Yes.”

“I have got to work on my brain to mouth filter,” I conclude, resting my head in my hands.

“Is this a serious consideration?”

“Yes,” I admit reluctantly, without moving my head. I fully expect him to crush my heart, then and there, especially when I hear him stand.

Instead, he forces my gaze up. I don’t know what he sees in my face, but whatever it is prompts him to sit back down.

“It is a mistake. One many mages have made. And I would not see you fall to it.” His expression is impenetrable, and I feel like I’m being judged before a full court.

“Fenris, you _do_ care! I’m touched.”

“And yet you continue to surround yourself with abominations and maleficar alike.” He sighs. “It’s a wonder you are only considering this now.”

I can die happy. The lyrium enhanced elven swordsman is _proud_ of me.

“Proud is a bit of an overstatement, Hawke,” and Fenris’ mouth twists and he rolls his eyes in spite of himself.

Again, with my useless brain to mouth filter.

He leans forward, steepling his hands. “Do you truly insist on following this?”

“I’m tired of being scared of them, Fenris,” I say, settling back in my chair.

“So you decide to _join_ them? To consort with demons, to enslave the minds of others, in an effort to overcome your fear of the others who do so?”

And _this_ is why I like Fenris.

“I’ve never much liked demons. And mind control? It’s a bit of an icky feeling.” I shudder as I recall how close the _Apostitute Wonder of the East_ came to offing me. “I couldn’t see reason for that unless someone was actively coming at me with a weapon.”

We talk for hours, discussing the ethicalities of this spell versus that. Hypothetical situations, that, on Fenris’ part, haven’t always been hypothetical.

 

Eventually, Fenris puts a hand down. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Hawke. Either by a demon, or by me.”

“The end all mages dream of.”

“Must you answer _everything_ with a joke?!”

“It’s part of my charm, so I’m told.”

“ _Fasta vass_ , Hawke. There’s a difference between charm and stupidity.”

“I shall endeavor to walk the line faithfully.”

 

We’re never quite friends after that. We disagree, but our respect is mutual. It’s better than expecting a fist in the chest, and I could never have asked anything more of him.


End file.
